that december of thursdays we lived on the subway like dishrags, incredulous that this had happened to us/ slamming in the subway toilets/ like cats/ vicious as a tattletale/ someday someone is going to put a bullet/ through your head/ and the rest of us and our second selves — smugness personified — will say we knew that day would cum so let me say it here i know that day will cum sure as shit, and I also know that rule #1 is never rip a drug dealer off because they singularly dislike it/ and they become singularly annoyed/ but you never ever listen/ and now you have reached the point where you are less than spectacularly equipped to meet a sunset about to melt all restraint from pink to bleeding red/ drugged to bed among the dead/ collapsed into a tourniquet of caress/ what i loved was your ass/ not you/ but your hole was a boarding house/ and everyone knows junkies rarely eat fucking shit up on apple valley street unhinged and dappled in the window from the sun/